


Making Sense of Things

by IOnlyWriteKinkandFeels



Series: A Gentle Release [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood Loss, Caring Sam, Dean gets banged up, Dean hits subspace unexpectedly, Dean is pretty much drunk off endorphins, Non sexual masochism, Off Screen Violence, Other, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Worried Sam, non sexual kink, subspace?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-08-19 23:04:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8227835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IOnlyWriteKinkandFeels/pseuds/IOnlyWriteKinkandFeels
Summary: Dean and Sam stay with Bobby after a rough hunt. While Sam patches up Dean he runs into a little problem, and a bit of an awkward time keeping it from Bobby.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is in the same verse as Soothing An Itch, if you've read or would like to. Not enough NSK (Non Sexual Kink) or Dean being taken care of, I think. Enjoy.

Dean cursed himself at the amount of shit that had happened with him on this latest hunt. But on the good side, and far more important one, Sam only had a few bruises and shallow cuts, he thinks. They were close to Sioux Falls, so Bobby decided for them that they didn't need a hotel when they could crash there. Sam was dozing, which would be a bit unusual if soft rock wasn't on the radio at the moment.

Didn't stop Dean from looking him over again and again for any semblance of more dangerous wounds. He didn't have the heart to wake him, given how many hours a hunter gets and he didn't have to deal with Sam actually catching him look. Though he would definitely check for any head injury later. 

Sam woke on his own when they pulled into the scrap yard, to which Dean heaved a sigh of relief. He didn't bother to grab the kit from Baby's trunk. Bobby had everything inside, and even if he was a grouchy drunk he'd never let anyone use anything of theirs if he had the same or better. Definitely one of his finer qualities, Dean mused as he and Sam walked in. 

"About time you lard asses got here, I was afraid I'd have to go after ya. Lord knows Rufus would've had to have come from damn near 600 miles away to be my backup. You know how much shit I would've gotten?" Bobby's way of saying hello was always interesting.

"Sorry Bobby, the gjinn gave us a run for our money, I guess." Sam said. 

"Sit, I'll get my supplies." Bobby turned tail and went to rummage through the kitchen.

Dean sat as instructed, though he felt relatively fine. He'd taken stock of a scraped knee, a pitiful stubbed toe, some sore shoulders, and a long gash down his arm. Okay, he knew, he definitely knew that when his adrenaline rush rushes right out of him he'd think differently but for now, it wasn't so bad. But for this instant he just tried not to bleed on the floor.

"You're gonna need to take your shirt off." Sam looked at the gash with no small amount of concern. 

"Damn straight, use those scraps you call clothes to keep that blood off my floor, boy." Bobby came back with a damn near suitcase full of supplies. 

He sat next to Dean, already sorting through the plethora of equipment when Sam piped up rather quickly "U-uh, Bobby? Maybe we could get some drinks and I'll patch Dean up?" He produces a small stone with a sigil on it from his pocket, holds it out to the senior hunter, "Maybe you can work on figuring out what this is, if you don't know already?"

Bobby's eyes were full of a hunter's best tool, suspicion, for a moment before he nodded and got up. "Yeah. Good idea, Sam." He snatched the sigil and left the room.

Dean held his shirt under the gash, and under further inspection realized it was gashes, in a sad and annoying plural. The main one was longest and deepest, maybe a half an inch deep, and there were three other smaller, less threatening ones. He'd need stitches for all of them, though.

Sam slid into the seat Bobby had taken moments before, rushing himself to thread the suture needle, the crease appearing on his forehead from the concentration. 

Dean furrowed his brow. "The hell is your rush?" 

"No rush, except I'm not exactly looking forward to burying my bled dry brother. Hell, I was expecting you to pass out on the way here." Sam murmered.

"Yeah? Then why'd I look over to see you snoozing?" Dean scoffed.

"You cheated with soft rock and before I fell asleep I was watching you and the road diligently, I even insisted I drive. But of course you're too caught up in your masculinity to let anyone else drive your car." Sam countered, hand out for Dean's arm. 

Dean complied but was cut off before he could start by Bobby "Listen to you two, bickering like a bunch of sissy ninnies." 

He slammed two beers on the table before opening his own. "Shut up and get patched up, the both of ya." 

The boys ducked their heads and fell silent, though Sam gave his brother a small mercy of not letting Dean know when he started to literally sew him back together. Dean gave Sam a nod toward his beer, to which he paused briefly to allow him to open it and take a sip, or six, before continuing.

By the time the largest section was pulled back together, Sam felt something off. He gazed up at Dean's face on a hunch. His pupils were blown and he looked relaxed in a way beer just didn't do to a man. Of course he has to do this at Bobby's. Not that the older man would have any problem with it, he's sure, but it definitely isn't something Sam would care to explain if at all avoidable.

"Dean?" He asked, a whisper so soft Bobby was sure to not hear.

Dean turned his head, slow and dreamlike, his pupils contracting a bit sluggishly as he focuses on Sam. He doesn't make an effort to speak and he looks high instead of drunk or in pain. 

'Or a bad kind of pain anyway' Sam nearly frowned. 

"Are you going to be able to keep it together until we can sleep?" He whispered even lower beneath his breath.

The older Winchester seemed to consider it for a moment before he nodded.

Sam started to open his mouth but thought better of it. What would he say? What could he say? "I'm going to keep going but if you get too zoned out then I'll get Bobby to do it?" Yeah, like hell. 

By the time everything was said and done, Dean looked like he'd been roofied. Sam fought the urge to carry him to the couch where he'd sleep. Instead he helped the other walk, those he froze immediately when he felt a very familiar hand suddenly start groping around his sore head.

"Dean." Sam was exasperated and confused as he yanked his head away.

"Y' hit y'r head. Got'a check." 

"Uh, I'm fine. Just get on the couch." He tried to not be weirded out, but sometimes Dean surprised him.

He laid his older brother down, and Bobby was researching the sigil. Dean was practically fighting to stay awake. He decided now may as well be his best chance.

He slapped Dean's face a bit. His eyes focused on him with the speed of a snail.

"We're going to talk about this when you're-" Sam faltered, he had no idea what to call this. "Sober?"

"Wha?" Dean mumbled.

Sam's brows furrowed in sympathy, his poor brother was clearly using a hell of a lot of effort to actually communicate with him. "Nothing De, you'll see in the morning."

"Mm.." Dean nuzzled into the pillows.

By the time morning rolled around Dean was startled at the presence of Sam staring him down expectantly. Dean sat up right as quickly as his injuries would allow, clearly ticked.

"You stay there all night?" He grumbled, voice rough from sleep.

"Just the past hour."

Dean sighed "man, why didn't you wake me?"

"Didn't know if you'd still be all lala loopsy, so I decided to wait. Bobby isn't up yet though." Sam rolled his eyes.

"So what do we gotta talk about, again?" Dean rubbed his face.

"Last night you did the thing. You slipped off and I had to keep Bobby off of it. Tell me how far this goes, Dean." Sam lowered his voice, eyes shifting around, expecting Bobby to appear out of no where.

"I didn't like it, if that's what you're trying to ask, Sam." Dean heaved himself off the couch to get a beer. "It hurt like a son of a bitch and that isn't near close enough to bruises to be-" He glanced around for the senior hunter, and lowered his voice, "relaxing." He feigned the word.

"If it hurt so bad then what was it? I've patched you up before and you didn't do it. What sense does it make? That's all I'm asking." 

Dean popped the cap from his beer and sighed before taking a sip. "Usually I feel safe when we do that, almost at ease. Well, as much as you can be, in those moments, cause you know you can get help, I guess. And here with Bobby is the safest we can be, in my mind. And it's always you that does it, so maybe that was it?" Came after a long moment.

"Yeah, yeah. Maybe it was the power of association, it makes sense." Sam stuttered, gesturing out his thoughs.

"Probably." Dean shrugged. 

Sam seemed satisfied in the answer, and slumped in his seat, relief flooding through him. He hardly thought about Dean's footsteps coming closer, then the hand was back, feeling none too gently on purpose this time. Sam smacked his brother's hand away. 

"I checked before I went to bed and again this morning, I'm concussion and head injury free, I promise." Sam scoffed. 

"Just making sure, Sammy, calm down. Like you wanna take care of me, I gotta take care of you." Dean smirked behind the neck of his beer.

Sam smirked "I know."


End file.
